For them to get a mustache and a goatee looking like that, I must have been a very willing accomplice, but I also must have thought I could improve upon their artistic efforts. When they finished, my sisters left the mascara within my reach, leaving no limits to the expression of my artistic genius.
Fast forward twenty-six years. My son is just two and a half months old and only has two older sisters. Little, however, has changed. Just this last week they managed to get him to hold a tea cup while they pretended to pour him tea. At first, he didn't seem to know how to respond, but before long and with his mother's help, he was thrusting out the cup for more.
It was probably the same day that my wife and I happened to look over to where our son was sitting. His sisters had decided to make him a patron saint. Forget about recording and authenticating specific miracles performed by the saint-in-waiting. No, they decided to cut through all the red tape and just declare him to be a saint based on his angelic appearance.
Could you dispute their case? Besides, who needs all the paperwork to be considered a saint!?
On second thought, perhaps it would have been nice to see some more photographic evidence of the creative things my sisters used to do and thus recapture some of the innocent creativity and ingenuity of our own childhood. Oh to be young again!
Thanks, sisters, for all the games and fun!
